Action and adventure; includes sub-genres such as spy or political dramas and high-stakes thrillers.
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
Sometimes it was easy to forget she was a conscript. Other times, it was impossible.
Rule number one: no one knows about us. Rule number two: I will continue to take other lovers to keep up appearances. Rule number three: no commitment. I thought it would be best to keep this quiet so I wouldn't look like a damn pedophile.
Elysia glanced once more around the room. In her head, there were echoes, snatches of conversations, voices from people long gone, long dead. There were ghosts in this room.
"Apparently their mother never cautioned them to stay away from strangers with cars."
He knew, as he had never known before, his own body; the strength and flexibility in every limb, every joint, every bone.
"You'll be up against the wall before you know it, Mustang, right where you belong, eating the bullets of a firing squad for breakfast."
Living dangerously had its perks.
It was beautiful, this pre-industrial world, with its white snows and ever-visible rainbows and the dazzling night sky. But it was also dreadful, seething with ignorance and man-made horrors.
It was so easy to forget how uneven alchemy made a fight. No ordinary guy ever had a chance.
"I'm not being forced out of another home. They won't be here long, and it's not like they'll be looking for us."
"How old are you?" The answer was on the wanted posters, of course, but he wanted to check.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
"They're human chimeras, Mr. Elric. Children, primarily, and they're violent."
"You'd be dangerous if you ever figured out what you wanted, Fullmetal."
And while he didn't know the Niisan that had been to hell and back again with a grin on his face, he knew his Niisan, and he knew that prison was not at all where he belonged.
Brother deserves better than to always walk alone. And you deserve better than to quietly freeze in the dark, regretting things left untested.
"Just who're you calling..." Edward's voice stuttered to a halt as he saw where the man was pointing. "...short?"
Two things were constant in his life: His brother and blood.
Ed woke up slowly, and wished he hadn't.
There was no question that the very act of living in this world was to be in exile.
This really was turning out to be a day of surprises, thought Roy.
"Stop that," he snapped, flicking the tap on. "Change into something a little more appropriate. You're not him, brother."
Roy had been among the rebels for weeks now, and he'd learned very early on that these men were dangerous, very dangerous.
It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one now who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.
They would bow, they would drop into a fighting stand and extend their swords, there would be the shout of en garde. And then she would take him down.
When night fell in Ishvar, night vision or no vision, flares or no flares, there was nothing you wanted to do less than draw attention to yourself.
It wasn't easy to imagine how he had been mistaken, because Al could swear that even from a distance, a hanged man looked very different from a tent post.
He was a version of his brother if he'd grown up, but fainter, as though he'd been diluted in the bright light of the Gate.
After all, Edward needed her help in catching the syndicate known as 'Soldiers'.
"We don't know for sure." Ed rested his chin on his metal arm, gazing unseeingly out the window. "But people go in there, and they don't come out."
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.